Tidings of Comfort and Joy
by JennyLD
Summary: A little Christmas spirit and the love and hope that comes with it.


**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who owns my soul, I own nothing.**  
Spoilers: **Doomsday

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He watches intently as the fluffy white flakes twirl gracefully through the crisp cold air revealing their tiny, intricate designs, each one unique, each one as beautiful as the next. They flitter lazily across his face, slowly but surely finding their destination at his feet in the pile of those that came before.

Nothing, not even the bite of the winter chill, can ruin this day.

Standing before him, dressed to the "T" in garb befitting the time and place, Rose blesses him with her most lovely of smiles. Fallen snow covers her hair like a white mantel, her cheeks are pink – flushed – from the cold, and her eyes…oh how they sparkle!

They spend the day alongside a group of local children, freed from the doldrums of a typical Wednesday by the miracle of a snow day. "Rarely happens anymore," he's told by a precocious 8-year-old, "Snow accumulations simply do not meet those which were once the norm, and it practically takes an honest-to-goodness blizzard in order for them to shut down the schools nowadays." He can't help but wonder if she's merely repeating something she's heard her mother say countless times before or if maybe she watches just a wee bit too much of the Weather Channel.

The kids know the area well and are more then happy to show them the best sledding hills, the best ice skating rinks. One quiet little boy (Billy is his name) even offers his sled up to them when he realizes they have none of their own. He's about to tell the child that you don't need a sled when you have a perfectly good bum to go down on when Rose places her hand on his arm and gives him that look. It takes almost a minute before he manages to decipher her cryptic stare and by the time he does the poor kid looks as though he's about to cry. "A very generous offer young man," he smiles, clapping Billy on the back.

They take turns going down the hill with Billy at the helm (the Doctor insists it is a mountain and far too unsafe for children so small but they all giggle and grin and rush headlong past him, screaming as they take on the demon run without fear). Billy's torn faded jacket and old wooden sled indicate a difficult life full of second-hand gifts and dinners that don't quite fill even a small tummy. The other children aren't mean to him, not with Rose and the Doctor around, but he can see it in their eyes; the disgust that they feel just knowing he's there playing on the same hill, breathing in the same air, as them. He wants to yell at them but he doesn't, knowing that nothing he says is going to change the way they feel about Billy. It's a lesson they'll hopefully learn on their own someday.

Around midday they pause for a break, huddling up in the small shelter the Park Service provides as an escape from the elements. There's fresh tap water and a microwave sitting on a cupboard filled with coffee mugs. One of the older children runs home for some packets of hot cocoa and suddenly they all feel a bit warmer. Of course the singing and the dancing have helped too. There's no better way to get the blood pumping then a frolicking rendition of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" sung at least two dozen times.

Later they make snow angels, have the largest snowball fight this side of the Mississippi, and ice skate on the rink in the center of town. The streetlights are on by now, it's only supper time but the sun sets early this time of year, and their breath comes out in big, white puffs of smoke. Rose is arm in arm with Billy, or as close to it as they can get with the height difference. He's looking up at her adoringly and the Doctor smiles to himself, understanding all too well the boy's infatuation.

Then, before he can blink, the perfect day is coming to an end. Shrill feminine voices call out from all over town and at once the children start to scatter heading towards their respective homes. Billy shows less enthusiasm but even he eventually departs, leaving the Doctor and his companion alone.

Linking her arm through his, she leans in and whispers into his ear. A grin spreads slowly across his face as they rush back towards the Tardis.

OOO

He watches contentedly as the children carefully unwrap the multi-colored boxes piled beneath the Christmas tree. Their faces lit up as one after another they found treasures beyond their imagination, and even the mundane -- the clothes and school supplies they so desperately need -- bring shrieks of joy. He swore he'd never do domestic but this…this is so worth it.

It had been Rose's idea, her way of passing on a little Christmas cheer to someone who really needed it. She had been so excited, practically ripping through store after store in an attempt to find that perfect gift for each of the Johnson children. Then she insisted on decorations, loads and loads of decorations, enough to fill a mansion thrice over. Oh, and you couldn't forget the Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. Absolutely no expense spared.

They had wrapped the presents and stored the dinner stored in the huge bedroom-sized Tardis refrigerator before they made one last trip to Cardiff – to do some laundry – before heading back to Minnesota and the boy who'd stolen both of their hearts.

But they never made it back...at least she didn't.

It had become Martha's idea, once she found the stash of Christmas cheer. He hadn't wanted to return because it brought back too many memories that he wasn't yet ready to face, but she insisted, pointing out that it wasn't Billy's fault the Doctor had lost the woman he loved. He still deserved what little happiness they could bring him, deserved to know just how much he meant to the girl in the pink snowsuit.

The floor is covered in paper and bows and the children are laughing at the pure joy of this so very unexpected surprise. The space beneath the eight-foot tree is empty except for one very large and oddly shaped gift, forgotten about in the excitement of toys to show off and share with anyone who wanted to play.

"Billy, I think you missed one," Martha grins, waving her hand in the direction of the one, lone present.

This, too, had been Martha's idea. One more purchase made just before trudging through the knee-high snow to the small home this large family somehow managed to squeeze themselves into. The label – addressed to the youngest Johnson child – signed in metallic pink ink, _"Your Guardian Angel, Rose"_.

There, nestled deep within the many layers of wrapping paper, was a proper sled; all shiny and new, made of the finest materials and the most aerodynamic design. Perfect for a boy like Billy.


End file.
